Page 61 of His Bluestocking Bride

Marcus’s heart sank. It was true. He’d told Lucas everything, and felt the truth of such sentiments at the time. But things had changed since then.

“Ellen married you anyway. Bless her for that. But seeing you here in town, watching the two of you, I think you’ve made an incredible mess of things.” Lucas’s drumming fingers moved more rapidly as he spoke and his brows were drawn down in an impressive scowl.

“A mess of things?” Marcus sat straighter, affronted. “I may be in love with her. I’m trying to do things the correct way. I’m being a good husband—”

Lucas interrupted impatiently. “After making it clear to her, excessively so, that you would not love her as a man ought to love his wife. And the ball last night proved you haven’t any idea in your head as to what you’re doing to her.”

Marcus’s shoulders tightened and he sat straighter. “Excuse me?”

“You danced with her, for all the world to see, in effect baring your soul to everyone.” Lucas shook his head. “You’re enamored with your wife. Mother is beside herself you decided to make such a display of your feelings, but I think it was well done. Especially given the gossip I’d heard snatches of.”

“I heard it too,” Marcus answered, his temper flaring at the remembrance. “But I thought to correct the assumptions, and—”

Lucas cut him off with a dry chuckle. “Did you not see Ellen’s expression while you danced? I did. The whole of it. The poor woman’s heart was in her eyes.”

Marcus looked away. “I wanted to dance with her, Luc. Not to stop tongues wagging, but to dance with my wife.”

“I understand. I truly do. You never had a courtship with her, and now that you’re married, and in love with your wife, you should get one.”

Starting at his brother’s boldness, Marcus opened his mouth to protest. Lucas, in his typical fashion, did not allow it.

“Marcus, not half an hour later you were seen with Lady Castleton. For the second time this week, I might add.”

“How did you—?”

“You were on the street with her, in front of a popular modiste. People saw you.” Lucas shrugged and ran his hand through his short blond hair, a frown pulling his mouth down. “Falkham told me you nearly gave her the cut direct at the ball. Your marriage, new and talked about as it is, doesn’t need more gossip attached to it.”

Marcus slumped over, elbows on the table and face in his hands. “I hate London.”

“Your wife does too.”

His eyes came up at that. “How would you know? She’s always wanted to come, to see the museums and galleries, the libraries.”

“I’m sure she has. But she dislikes society. I can’t say that I blame her. I feel it too, especially with the absurdities of our Parliament this session. We’re fighting a war with Napoleon and the Americans are in a snit over the trade embargos and impressments.” Lucas shook his head. “It’s a room full of fools at times, and the few of us with sense are shouted down. But we’re not talking of that. Forgive me. We’re talking of you and Ellen.”

“Last night, at the ball. What would you have done in my place?” Marcus kept his voice low, trying to sound reasonable. “If it had been Abigail—”

Lucas groaned and sat back. “Abigail and Ellen are not the same. Not at all. Abigail was born to this—”

“Ellen can learn,” Marcus argued. He raised a hand and waved it around the room. “She can learn all of it. You said it yourself, she’s intelligent.”

“I’m trying to tell you,” Lucas said, enunciating each word carefully, “that she doesn’t have to learn it if she doesn’t want to. We both know you don’t like it here either.”

“I like London well enough.”

“You think you have to like it,” Lucas said, obviously unimpressed with Marcus’s protest. “You find things about London to enjoy, but you would rather be a country gentleman than a member of the ton.”

Marcus sat back, his hands staying outstretched on the table. “You need me here.”

“I have enjoyed having your support,” Lucas said, meeting his brother’s eyes. He leaned forward, his blue eyes glowing with intensity. “But I do not need you here, Marcus. I can see to myself, and it’s time you do the same. Find out what your wife needs, and if it’s to stay in London you must stay. If Ellen feels as you do, if she would rather return to your home, take her back to the country and be happy.”

Lucas’s expression changed, becoming almost pained. “But please, Marcus. Please, stop wasting time. It’s a precious thing. Do what you must to make your wife your primary concern. Court her, cherish her, and tell her how you feel. You never know when it might be too late.”

Marcus’s heart ached for his brother. “Will you take your own advice and find happiness again, Luc?”

The mask of the earl fell back into place and Lucas returned to his letters. “My happiness is not your concern. Ellen’s happiness is.”

With that the conversation ended. Marcus, no longer hungry, took his leave.